


Foreign Policy

by CelestialIguana



Series: vixx royalty au [1]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair Pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, and kinda mean, because thats what the people deserve, but in a sexy way stay with me, hongbin is in love and occasionally soft, hongbin tops, very light Dom/sub, wonsik is soft and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19891129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialIguana/pseuds/CelestialIguana
Summary: “You say please very nicely, for a prince,” Hongbin says.Wonsik glances up from under his lashes, catching his breath. “You could do with some more manners, for an emissary.”Hongbin laughs brightly, combing his fingers through Wonsik’s hair. His hands catch in the strands. And then he suddenly jerks his neck harshly to the side, dropping his hand to Wonsik’s exposed neck.“I think you like me this way,your highness.” The title makes Wonsik’s ears burn red. Hongbin’s hand very gently squeezes the sides of Wonsik’s neck, forcing his head back and to the side. Spots flicker in front of Wonsik’s eyes, although he isn’t sure if it’s from the lack of blood flow to his brain or the overload of blood rushing to his dick. Most likely it’s both.





	Foreign Policy

It starts with a whisper. Servants in the hallways, hands covering their mouths, eyes darting from side to side. It spreads from the servants to the ladies of the castle, and from there to the lords, like a spark burning its way through the castle. And it, as all things do in the kingdom, eventually reaches the ears of the royalty. Wonsik can’t say he’s surprised; dignitaries come every autumn, and yet he’s never heard of one causing quite the excitement this one has, because all the whispers say the same thing, whether it was said behind a serving spoon or a lace glove. 

_Lee Hongbin is coming._

Lee Hongbin, emissary to the Northern Kingdoms, was coming to spend the season down south. And Wonsik has never met the delegate before but he knows the North produces people as cold as its frost. He’s interested to see how much truth the rumours that trickle down from traders carry. As most things do, the topic comes up over dinner. As the second of only two brothers, Wonsik is afforded a relatively high seat at the table. Not that his place at the table means anything; second in line for the throne was akin to being a war general’s messenger; you carried their mail, did their paperwork, and walked beside them, but, in the end, it’s general’s name that is written down in the books. Wonsik would be an asterisk next to King Woojin, first of his name, King of the Southern Kingdoms. 

“The Northern emissary arrives in a week,” Woojin says, spearing a piece of meat savagely. “Can’t wait to see how he deals with the weather.” 

“They have warm weather there, too,” Wonsik mutters. His brother sneers at him. 

“Walking around in those _furs_ like some kind of savage,” he continues. Wonsik holds his tongue; his brother isn’t one for level-headed disagreements.

The queen narrows her eyes. “Woojin! Lee Hongbin will be our guest,” she hisses. “I will not have you embarrass us.” Woojin slumps into his chair, arms crossed. The king makes no comment. The king rarely does.

Tensions are... high, to put it mildly. Lee Hongbin and his party will be the first Northern visitors to the Southern kingdoms in years after a particularly messy border dispute resulting in the deaths of three Northern princes. 

“Well, I’m not giving him the tour,” Woojin says petulantly. 

“I can,” Wonsik says. He wants to meet this emissary who sparks whispers throughout the kingdom and makes his brother so mad. Anyone who can do that is worth being friends with. 

And so a week passes, as weeks do, all the more slowly for the fact that Wonsik has something to look forward to. Castle preparations take up much of his time and before he can mentally prepare, Northern horns cut through the cool autumn air and hoof beats drum against the ground.

Wonsik, along with the rest of the royal family, wait in the courtyard to greet the party. Four chestnut brown horses trot into the cobblestone square, riders cloaked in grey fur pulling them to a stop a few feet away from Wonsik. And then a fifth, last in line, horse such a deep black it’s almost blue, stops with a plume of dust in the center of the small company.

Big, is Wonsik’s first thought. Because the horses are _big,_ much bigger than the Southern ones, and he wonders how they ever managed to kill three princes on horses of that size. His eyes travel up, up, up to meet the rider’s eyes. And his breath stops.

Lee Hongbin is quite possibly the most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on, and even though Wonsik lives in a world of silk and masks he doesn’t think he’s ever met a man who carries himself quite like Hongbin does. The king steps forward and Wonsik tears his eyes off the emissary, hoping he didn’t catch him staring.

“Welcome to the South,” the king says, spreading his arms. He doesn’t bow. That would lower himself to the standing of a foreign emissary, and he would never do that. “We welcome you into our kingdom and home.”

“I am unworthy of your kingdom and home, but I accept your gracious invitation.” The words are old, a relic of older times, but tradition is hard to change and Hongbin has a way of speaking that overlays the ancient custom with a touch of derision. Not enough for anyone to take offense, but just enough to make one question whether he really believes what he says.

“Please,” the queen says. “You must be exhausted. Allow us to show you to your rooms.”

Hongbin inclines his head and dismounts his horse, signalling his party to do the same. The guards fell into step behind him with practiced movements. Woojin sidles up next to Hongbin, eyes bright with a cruel light. Wonsik steps closer to hear the exchange.

“I hear you’re the youngest of eight princes,” he says, obviously leading up to something. Hongbin nods, eyes remaining on the hallway in front of him. Woojin smirks. “Bit of an overload of princes up North, huh? Popping them out like rats. I see you’re going for quantity over quality?”

Hongbin stops walking, forcing Woojin to stutter to a halt. The emissary lips stretch into a sharp grin, eyes darkly glittering. “I see you’ve achieved neither.”

Wonsik barely covers his snort of laughter with a cough. Woojin’s eyes widen comically and his mouth opens and shuts in shock. Hongbin brushes past the stunned prince and strides forward. After a moment of hesitation, Wonsik shrugs at his brother and follows.

Woojin doesn’t try to catch up, instead turning abruptly on his heel and walking away. The king, who has either not heard the exchange or is pretending he hadn’t, stops in the main throne room.

“My son Wonsik will show you around,” he says. “I look forward to your company this season.” 

“Your hospitality is appreciated.” Hongbin has probably grown up learning the Southern language alongside his native Northern tongue, but it has a different feel to it. Wonsik has always thought his language sounded soft and light, like feathers brushing across the heated sand, but Hongbin sharpens his words into ice-like points, aimed with precision.

The king takes his wife’s arm and the two exit the hall, leaving Wonsik alone with the foreign prince and his guards. To his surprise, Hongbin speaks first.

“My apologies,” he says, with that frostbitten accent of his. “My comment earlier was not directed at you.”

A startled laugh slips from Wonsik’s lips. “I took no offense. Rather, I thought it was well played.”

Hongbin’s mouth quirks into something that almost resembles a smile.

“I can show you to your rooms?”

“I would love that,” Hongbin replies. And it would seem North isn’t quite so different from South after all.

~~~

Days and weeks pass without preamble, autumn days bleeding into night melting into pale dawn, and Wonsik observes the Northern prince.

Hongbin spends his time in the library, or in the gardens, or in the city, but he is never alone. He is always surrounded by men and women of high standing, lords and ladies of the court who flock to the exotic addition to their ornamental cage and fail to see what sharp talons it has, that the sweet birdsong and colorful feathers are all a front. His oddly sharp accent becomes the carefully cultivated speech of nobles, although his words still land precisely where he means them to. Woojin stays away, either because he has more important things to do or because he fears someone who isn’t Wonsik catch him losing a battle of words to a prince speaking a foreign language. Wonsik sees it all, under the protection and invisibility of the title _second son._ He can almost see the threads Hongbin maneuvers with ease, stretching from his slender fingers to the limbs of the court, the deals being made and broken and carefully twisted into something else entirely.

Hongbin, youngest son of the Northern king and therefore entitled to no throne at all, walks like the world will fall at his feet.

And in this court of transitory alliances and fragile silks it’s all too easy for Hongbin to snap his fingers and blind them with the magic words.

And then, as Wonsik watches Hongbin secure a trade deal with one of the outlying Southern Kingdoms, the prince addresses him directly, eyebrow raised.

“Have you discovered anything interesting?” he asks. The Southern lord leaves, putting Hongbin and Wonsik alone in the garden.

“I’m sorry?” 

Hongbin spreads his hands. “I just thought you might have discovered something during all the time you’ve spent watching me.” It is a subtle hint, as expected of delegate.

“Oh,” Wonsik says, fidgeting with his ring. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”

Hongbin inclines his head, reminiscent of their first meeting. They hadn’t spoken much since then. “No offense taken, you can be sure.”

“I will endeavor to find other activities,” Wonsik promises, feet turning towards the exit to the gardens. It wouldn’t do to irritate the foreign diplomat.

“Wait, please.” Hongbin’s voice stops him in his tracks, and he turns back around. Hongbin speaks softly, but his words carry no less weight

“I’m curious. Am I that interesting to you? Surely you have better things to do than watch me wander your castle.”

Wonsik laughs bitterly. “I really don’t. And you’re much more interesting than the books I would be reading otherwise.” He casts about for words to describe it. “The way you speak, it-”

“Is my accent bad?” Hongbin interrupts, and he actually looks quite worried. “I really have been practicing, you know, but there aren’t many Southerners willing to teach-”

“No!” Wonsik hurries to reassure the emissary. “Your accent is perfect. I’m just enjoying the way you have the court eating out of your hand.”

Hongbin grins. “A talent of mine, I suppose.”

Wonsik chokes slightly, because oh _shit_ he has dimples, two of them, and Wonsik literally dies. Hongbin gives the red-faced prince a confused glance.

He manages to quell his coughing fit enough to continue the conversation. “How do you do it? The talking, I mean.”

“I learned the language…?” Hongbin answers hesitantly, eyebrows drawn together. 

Wonsik shakes his head. “And you speak it well, to be sure, but that’s not what I’m referring to. The way you control the conversation, make the court think what you want them to, believe what you say, do what you want.” He sees an understanding dawning in Hongbin’s eyes. “Just yesterday I heard you convince the son of a man whose father was killed in the border dispute to buy Northern exports.”

Hongbin laughs slightly. “I just tell them what they want to hear, what they already expect to hear. That son wears the ring of his house, so I assumed he cared for his father. I told him the North wanted to offer its condolences and give him three months worth of produce. And we will, three months worth of Northern-specific produce, that he’ll then feel obligated to continue buying afterwards both for himself and his father. I’m afraid there isn’t much of a secret to it.”

Wonsik, who has taken classes in economics and foreign policy and everything in between, doesn’t think this bodes very well for his country, to have what must surely count as a spy in the midst of court, but he is too occupied with the way Hongbin’s lips form his words to think about matters of state.

“Well,” he says. “I have discovered something interesting.” Hongbin smiles, dimples mocking Wonsik’s poor, helpless soul. “I suppose I will have to continue following you around. Who knows what other interesting things will come to light?” And wow, Wonsik pats himself on the back for that perfectly placed comment. What a pro.

“Can I interest you in some lunch?” Hongbin asks, and Wonsik would be interested in anything that comes out of this beautiful, cunning man’s mouth, to be honest, but he is hungry, and lunch sounds particularly wonderful at the moment. Hongbin’s hand is soft when he takes it.

“I would be delighted.”

  
  
~~~

It isn’t hard, in the end, to fall into bed with the emissary. Hongbin makes it so easy, with his lingering glances and dark eyes, every step an invitation that Wonsik is all too happy to accept. And really, Hongbin’s preferences aren’t too surprising when you take everything into consideration. It’s not unanticipated that a prince without a throne would enjoy having someone kneel before them. And Wonsik has never cared much for titles, anyway.

Wonsik’s quarters have thick furs covering the stone tiles, so it’s the preferred location for their nightly activities. The guards know not to disturb them, but it still gives Wonsik a little rush of apprehension when he thinks about their proximity to the door.

The furs in question are soft against Wonsik’s knees, but the relative comfort of his position falls far down the list of his priorities at the moment, and he suspects that if he complained, Hongbin would simply laugh.

Hongbin’s pants are about as soft as the furs on the floor, albeit much thinner and more supple. Wonsik knows this because his face is currently nuzzled into the side of Hongbin’s leg as the emissary leans against the wooden bedpost, long fingers tangled in Wonsik’s hair. 

“You like this,” Hongbin says, and it’s not a question.

Wonsik nods, the motion tugging at his scalp. It would be a lie to say no, and he wasn’t one to lie, especially when the truth was so obvious. His mouth drops open slightly as Hongbin uses uses his grip on his hair to pull his head back, looking into his eyes.

“I like this too. But I think I’d like it more if you actually sucked my dick.” His voice is biting and cold, but the spark of mirth in his eyes belies his true intent. Wonsik doesn’t know how he manages to inject such _temperature_ into his tone, but it makes him wonder if all Northerners speak like winter.

(Hongbin doesn’t only speak coldly; when he kisses, the heat of his mouth is at odds with the taste of frost on his tongue and snow on his lips, and Wonsik imagines he can feel blustering winter winds. He can’t, of course, it’s just his overactive imagination, but he can’t help but feel like Hongbin, as beautiful as he is amongst the flowers and sand, would be even more striking against a backdrop of blue ice. He hopes he gets to see it, one day.)

But for now, he’s exactly where he wants to be, on his knees before the eighth prince of the North, unbuttoning his pants with careful fingers. Hongin leans back and doesn’t help at all, because of course he doesn’t. He hisses as Wonsik wraps his fingers around the length of his cock.

“Your hands are cold,” he mutters. Wonsik allows a small grin to pass over his lips.

“I thought you’d be used to the cold.”

Hongbin gares down at him. “It’s not like we walk around sticking our dicks into snowbanks, Wonsik-”

His attempt at a stern tone flies out the window when Wonsik sucks him into his mouth, tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock. He moves his hands in unison with his mouth, taking care of the length his mouth can’t reach; It’s an activity he enjoys, because he doesn’t have to talk, and it’s an activity Hongbin enjoys, because Hongbin loves to talk.

“You’re so good at this,” Hongbin says, voice breathier than normal. He drops his head back against the bedpost, hands pressing Wonsik’s head farther down on his cock. “You feel so good, your mouth, your lips-”

Wonsik dips his tongue into the slit and Hongbin curses, hips jerking into Wonsik’s face. He chokes at the sudden movement, pulling off. There aren’t any mirrors in the room but Wonsik can imagine how debauched he looks with his mussed hair and swollen lips, chin wet with spit and precum.

Hongbin grips his jaw, forcing his thumb between Wonsik’s teeth. “Look at you,” he says, eyes glittering. “On your knees before a foreign prince. What would the court say?”

Wonsik tries not to think about what the court would say, mostly because he worries that he won’t care, and that would truly be the point of no return. But no matter, because he can’t answer with Hongbin’s fingers in his mouth.

“The guards are right outside, you know,” he continues. “You stay so quiet all the time, but I bet I could get them to hear you.” His fingers leave Wonsik’s mouth and he drags them across his cheek, smearing trails of saliva down the side of his face. Wonsik’s skin heats up. “Would you like that?” Hongbin asks. “Want me to make you scream?”

“I want to suck your cock,” Wonsik says, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. He’s so hard, straining against the ridiculously tight pants in fashion this season, but his hands are occupied and he can’t think about himself when Hongbin’s right in front of him.

Hongbin grins, releasing his chin. “You’re right. Those guards don’t deserve to hear your screams. Only me.”

Wonsik doesn’t want to think about how that sentence makes him feel. That would require too much emotional intelligence, and all of his is going towards not punching his brother in the face on any given day. But maybe words aren’t necessary, because Hongbin smiles like he knows exactly how Wonsik feels. The emissary draws his head back to his cock with demanding hands.

Wonsik wraps his lips around Hongbin’s length again, intent on making him lose his ice-cold exterior. Hongbin makes little sound when he’s not talking, so the faint breathless moan that slips from his lips makes Wonsik all the more pleased, going straight to the tangled mess of heat coiling in his chest. He moans around Hongbin’s cock. 

Hongbin gasps, cursing in his Northern language, syllables harsh against Wonsik’s ears. His fingers twist tighter into Wonsik’s hair. Wonsik quickens his efforts, allowing the barest hint of teeth to scrape against Hongbin’s dick. A moan escapes Hongbin’s lips and his dick twitches on Wonsik’s tongue. He’s panting now, faint, breathy gasps falling from his open mouth. Wonsik takes pride in every one, and even more in the way Hongbin’s hands spasm in his hair as he spills onto his tongue and down his throat. Hongbin’s face has fallen beautifully to pieces, eyes dark and hair swept across his forehead in a way he would be aghast to see. 

Wonsik pulls off, white dripping from the side of his mouth. Now that he isn’t so focused on bringing Hongbin to completion, the tension in his core burns all the hotter. He unconsciously cants his hips against Hongbin’s leg.

And of course Hongbin notices, even in the aftershocks of his orgasm. With a cruel grin, he draws his leg away. Wonsik whines, sitting back on his heels.

“You can’t do that,” Hongbin says, although his voice is much more unsteady than he probably intends. His eyes are dark, and Wonsik can’t look at them for too long or he thinks he’ll never want to stop.

“I didn’t mean to,” he tries, but Hongbin shakes his head teasingly. The prince drags his foot down Wonsik’s chest down to his crotch.

“Hands on the floor.” His voice cuts through the thick air; Wonsik hears everything in a faint daze, the only thing he’s sure of being that he wants more of the friction Hongbin is giving him. He presses his hands on the ground behind him, leaning back in an effort to grind against Hongbin’s foot.

Hongbin presses his foot down harder and Wonsik gasps at the feeling, everything far too intense after Hongbin’s previous neglect of his cock. (That’s the way it tends to be, with Hongbin. Nothing and then everything, silence followed by cacophony, fire and frost battling for dominance in his eyes and his bed. Wonsik can’t get enough of it.)

“Hongbin-” he chokes out around the wave of arousal that surges through him. “Hongbin, please.” His hips helplessly roll against Hongbin’s foot.

“Please-” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. _Please let me cum? Please stop I can’t take it? Please never stop, never leave._

Hongbin hums, grinding his foot down once more before setting it back against the bedpost. Wonsik pants (but his hands are still pressed behind him.)

“You say please very nicely, for a prince,” Hongbin says.

Wonsik glances up from under his lashes, catching his breath. “You could do with some more manners, for an emissary.”

Hongbin laughs brightly, combing his fingers through Wonsik’s hair. His hands catch in the strands. And then he suddenly jerks his neck harshly to the side, dropping his hand to Wonsik’s exposed neck.

“I think you like me this way, _your highness.”_ The title makes Wonsik’s ears burn red. Hongbin’s hand very gently squeezes the sides of Wonsik’s neck, forcing his head back and to the side. Spots flicker in front of Wonsik’s eyes, although he isn’t sure if it’s from the lack of blood flow to his brain or the overload of blood rushing to his dick. Most likely it’s both.

(Hongbin’s right; Wonsik does like him this way, although he’s also sure a few _please_ and _thank you’s_ wouldn’t go unappreciated.)

But for now, Wonsik just helplessly nods against Hongbin’s harsh grip, mouth dropping open even though the emissary’s not cutting off his oxygen, only his blood flow.

“And,” Hongbin continues, because he never stops talking, “I think you should apologize. I have wonderful manners.” He releases Wonsik’s throat, although his hand stays in his hair.

Wonsik narrows his eyes. “Your manners are passable, at best.” He’s actually quite impressed that he was able to put together such a coherent sentence with how much arousal and _want_ burns through his veins at the moment.

Fingers tighten in his hair. “That’s the wrong answer.”

Wonsik moans against Hongbin’s hold. “I’d be more likely to give you the right one if you gave me a kiss. Haven’t gotten one all night.”

Hongbin grins, stepping off the bed frame delicately. Everything he does, he does delicately. He draws Wonsik to his feet, dropping his hands from his hair to his waist, gripping lightly. Although more often than not, Wonsik wakes up with bruises in the shape of fingerprints adorning his skin. Quite a hassle to hide when fashion runs sparse this season. But Wonsik is happy to wear Hongbin’s marks, because he knows the man wears his as well. (More lightly, perhaps, but they’re there. On his lips and fingers and chest.)

Hongbin spins him around by his shoulders, making his head spin even more than it was before. He gathers his senses just in time for Hongbin to press him against the recently vacated bed frame and kiss him savagely, more teeth than lips. Wonsik swears Hongbin’s teeth are unnaturally sharp. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were. (Teeth as sharp as his words. How poetic.)

But his tongue is down Wonsik’s throat almost as deep as his dick was only minutes before and he tastes like the cherry wine they had for dinner and somehow still like snow even though he’s been in the South for weeks now. Maybe the ice runs in his blood. Wonsik can’t think about that now. He’s too focused on the feeling of Hongbin’s tongue stroking the inside of his mouth deftly, hips pressed against his firmly. They are both still wearing too many clothes, but it adds an air of urgency to the whole affair. Urgency Wonsik feels as Hongbin moans softly into his mouth. Wonsik nips at his lips teasingly.

He can feel Hongbin’s lips stretch into a smile, before his teeth pull Wonsik’s top lip into his mouth and bite at it harshly. Wonsik tastes iron.

Hongbin pulls away, licking a tint of red off his lips. He grins at Wonsik, breath coming fast.

“I want to make you scream,” he says, and Wonsik isn’t even surprised anymore at his directness; Hongbin is a prince in his own right, and it’s a refreshing change from the twisting way he speaks with the court. It makes Wonsik more confident that what they have is different. Special.

“Of course you do,” Wonsik replies. “You want a lot of things.”

Hongbin presses him back into the bed with a hand against his chest, catching himself on his elbows. He holds himself above Wonsik, soft black hair falling in his face.

“What do you want, your highness?” he asks, voice a low whisper.

Wonsik fights back the visceral reaction he has to Hongbin’s question and tries to formulate an answer. “I want you to stop talking and make good on your words,” he manages, but it doesn’t sound as irritated as it was meant to.

Hongbin grins at the petulant tone and drags his hands down Wonsik’s (still clothed!) chest, tweaking his nipples with cruel fingers. Wonsik jerks under him at the sudden spark of pain, dick straining against its confines.

“You’re so cute,” Hongbin teases, brushing the tips of his fingers over Wonsik’s aching dick. He ever so slowly unbuttons Wonsik’s pants, pulling them over his hips. “Trying to act all tough.”

Wonsik cants his hips up in an attempt to make Hongbin touch him, but the prince just smiles and forces him back down onto the bed with the palm of his hand.

“It’s ok,” Hongbin says. His hand wraps around Wonsik’s dick, and somewhere he found oil to make the slide easier, although god knows Wonsik is dripping enough precum it isn’t strictly necessary. “I know what you want.”

The friction is too good. It’s everything Wonsik needs, everything he’s been aching for since the emissary offered to walk him back to his rooms, taste of cherry wine still on his lips. It’s almost too much, because Hongbin doesn’t believe in starting slowly. (Hongbin runs with a policy of _go fast and wait for no one._ Wonsik has a feeling that Hongbin would wait for him, though. Just long enough for him to make up his mind.)

“Hongbin,” he gasps, and Hongbin smiles and presses the tip of his thumb into the slit, smearing oil and precum down Wonsik’s length. Wonsik knows it’s pointed retribution, that’s just how Hongbin thinks, but he doesn’t care because it feels too good to possibly regret.

“It’s ok,” Hongbin says, hand moving steadily faster. Wonsik won’t be able to hold on much longer. “You can let go.”

Wonsik doesn’t even want to think about why he feels so comfortable in Hongbin’s presence, enough to kneel for him and lose himself in him. But he can feel himself cresting the wave of want eating him up from the inside out and the thought is wiped from his mind. His vision goes white as he cums, spilling over Hongbin’s hand and the sheets some servant will surely be embarrassed to wash in the morning. When he opens his eyes again Hongbin sits, grinning at him all too arrogantly.

“The guards might actually have heard you that time,” he quips, wiping his hand across Wonsik’s shirt.

Wonsik groans, sinking back into the sheets. Hongbin flops on top of him, warm weight not as irritating as Wonsik would have thought it to be.

“You’re a menace.”

He has his eyes closed and so he can’t see Hongbin, per se, but he can definitely feel the prince’s self-satisfied smirk. 

“You love it,” Hongbin mutters, voice muffled and lips pressed against Wonsik’s neck. He’s sure it must be slick with sweat, but Hongbin doesn’t seem to care. 

Wonsik hums, neither confirming nor denying the statement. He thinks Hongbin understands anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> i love Hongbin so much don't touch me. his evolution into gamer boy hongbin? legendary. thanks for reading :)


End file.
